


Case 101: The Adventure Of The Slain Knight (1890)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [129]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Assassins & Hitmen, Circus, Destiel - Freeform, Government Conspiracy, Hospitals, Jealousy, Johnlock - Freeform, Justice, London, M/M, Murder, Period Typical Attitudes, Police, Politics, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 11:10:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17079221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ Sherlock and John find themselves facing the second of two government conspiracy cock-ups. Another face from the past provides a case in which a seemingly motiveless killing turns out to be anything but, for which more than one person will pay a price.Mentioned also as the Abbas Parva killing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MelodyofWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyofWings/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

John and I returned from our second visit to Lincolnshire in a very good mood, which may or may not have been due to the fact that my brother Bacchus was in hospital recovering from a sudden attack of stupidity in which he had threatened my life. In the hearing of Mother. I am only surprised that, given their abjectly poor track record when it came to respecting human lives, the government did not decide to rid itself of him in order to placate my still livid mother (all right, I also hoped for that!), especially as she had cornered the prime minister at a ball the night before and flattened two of his security detail before very publicly telling him what she thought of him. One of those rare instances that even the mighty _'Times'_ newspaper had had to use discretion in a headline; knowing Mother I seriously doubted that she had actually said she would 'grab him hard by St. Paul's'! For once I would not tease the man I loved about his interest in those social pages, as the paper was little else today after that sort of incident!

Sadly my next case was yet another concerning governmental stupidity and malfeasance, and this time one which ended in more than one death. Indeed, it ended with two bodies in two lakes. But at least someone learned a useful – if final - lesson at the end of it.

֍

John's readers will remember the terrible scandal at the Tankerville Club where a number of black gentlemen had been extracted from the East End solely so that certain depraved club members might 'enjoy' torturing them. Among those freed that day was Mr. Benjamin Jackson-Giles, who had not only made a full recovery but, my having obtained him a post at my gymnasium, had developed a most remarkable physique of which John was not the least bit jealous, especially when he had seen him dressed as a savage in our recent 'cooking class'. Or when he treated the fellow from time to time. No, not at all jealous. No way.

He is glaring at me for some reason.

Benji – John gets even more not-jealous when I call him that – really was one of the quietest and most unassuming fellows in London Town for all that he was built like a brick outhouse. As well as his main job as a fruiterer he had recently joined Derek in posing for some most fortunate art students at some suddenly very well-attended classes, but more directly he was to all intents and purposes my brother Luke's 'special friend'. Rather ironically given his demonic nickname Luke only really liked to have one of our half-brother Campbell's 'boys' as a steady housemate, paying the lucky fellow for the exclusivity (although he maintained a special relationship with the Selkirk twins Balin and Balan who had been his first horizontal encounter). 

Luke had been very attached to Mr. Anthony 'Tiny' Little before the latter's departure from these shores with John's least favourite Polynesian Prince Tane of Strafford Island, after which Campbell had suggested Benji as his new 'steady friend'. I remember having been surprised at the time – Benji had just got engaged – but the arrangement worked very well and I knew Luke cared for Benji, Bertha and their growing family. Worst of all as far as John was concerned however Benji was a tease, and would quite openly leer at me when he came round 'needing treatment for an injury' which seemed to happen suspiciously often. But as I remarked to John, he was certainly very pleasant company. 

The glare just amped up a level. How odd.

It was Benji's art work – the bad boy always remarked to me how much he got paid for just standing around without any clothes on, which remark always seemed to coincide with John coughing for no apparent reason - that was the reason for his visit and our next case, which like far too many was the focus of intense press speculation for about a week and then vanished from the newspapers to be replaced by some other horror. Not I quickly ascertained that our new client had wanted to seek our assistance but for such a tall muscular fellow Benji could really look like the most put-upon fellow in existence, and few could resist that doleful expression when he turned it on them. I mentioned that to John over breakfast one time and for some reason he just shook his head at me as he passed me half his bacon. I had no idea why.

֍

Benji arrived that first day wearing the overalls of his fruiterer's job which meant that he was headed off to work there. With him was a short young fellow with dark hair and a round face, half the bigger man's bulk and clearly trying to hide behind him (which was quite easy). I greeted my friend – I did not smirk at a certain person moving behind a table or pouting as he did when he did not get his way (or his pie) – and bade them both sit down.

“This is Eddie Bennet”, Benji said, “who works at the college. He sorts out all the things for lectures and displays and generally runs the place, despite all those puffed-up medicos who think they're in charge.”

The shorter man blushed at the praise. 

“Ben is very kind”, he said. He had a quiet voice that matched his appearance. “He helped me clear up one day when a lecture overran and I had to get in a lot of things for the one after, otherwise I would not have made it.”

“And now he's in trouble”, Benji said.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“It's the Abbas Parva murder, sir.”

I baulked at that name. The tragic death of young Michael Knight in the Berkshire village had divided opinion across the nation when it had hit the newspapers, the day we had left for Lincolnshire as it happened otherwise I myself might have paid it more attention. The nineteen-year-old had been found drowned in Walton Lake, not far south of the city of Oxford and barely a mile from the orphanage in Abbas Magna where he had lived. 

The case would surely have faded from the public interest like so many others had a curious angle not emerged two days on from the discovery of the body. A friend whom Mr. Knight had called upon in the village just before his death had mentioned that the fellow had been worried about something, and that he had talked about going to the police for some reason. The friend knew little else except he thought it unlikely that Mr. Knight would have approached the local constable, given that he was less than enamoured of that person (although he may have phrased that sentiment rather more bluntly). 

Another odd thing was that on leaving his friend Mr. Knight had headed off in the direction of the camp of the Ronder Circus which had then been based between the two Abbas villages. This was on the way back to his orphanage but in almost exactly the opposite direction from the lake in which he had been found, and although the coroner had expressed considerable doubt over the friend's evidence, the conspiracy theorists had naturally begun to speculate over the strange case.

“Michael Knight was my second cousin ”, Mr. Bennet said. “I grew up in Abbas Magna before coming to London so I know the area well. We were not close; there was a split between our respective parents and Michael's father was totally useless. When he died drunk in a ditch I was not in the least bit surprised.”

I winced at his unfortunate choice of words as I could feel John tense up. His own father had met just such an end, I recalled.

“I attended the last part of the inquest”, Mr. Bennet said, frowning “Something was.... wrong.”

We all looked at him but apparently that was it.

“Wrong how?” John asked. 

“I have read some of your cases published in the _'Strand'_ magazine, sirs”, he said. “Something just did not make sense but I did not like to say anything at the time because people would have thought I was stupid. And.... and I had an odd feeling that if I had spoken out then I myself might be in danger, although I had no reason for thinking that.”

“It is possible that something you saw registered on a subconscious level”, I said, “and warned you accordingly. What in the fairer sex is known as intuition; I have observed that sort of thing before. Was there anything that you did see that stuck in your mind?”

The young man thought for a moment.

“Michael was buried at the orphanage”, he said, “almost immediately the inquest was done. That wasn't the odd thing; I doubt that his mother could have afforded a plot and she is too proud to ask for or accept help. I had received a telegram from an uncle of mine who had been taken ill in London so I had to return to Paddington a day earlier than I expected. You may imagine my surprise when on the station platform I saw none other than the manager from the orphanage, Mr. Beckett.”

“Maybe he had business in London?” I suggested.

“I thought that too”, Mr. Bennet said, “and I was half-inclined to think that I was making something out of nothing, although the fact that he travelled first-class also struck me as a bit odd. He did not dress like someone who used first-class, at least in my humble opinion. Fortunately he did not notice me and I was able to stay with him. He was quite imperious for someone of his class; he summonsed a porter and told him to get a cab to take him to the government offices in Whitehall!”

I wondered if John would be writing the phrase _'déjà vu'_ just then. At least it could not be my obnoxious brother Bacchus this time as he was still recovering from Mother's recent Level Ten. Which reminded me, I needed to buy her an even more deadly walking-stick. A doubly reinforced one for the next time that he annoyed her; it could surely not be that far into the future.

The bad thought that I could always lay something at Bacchus' door anyway had occurred to me but I was too good for that. Well, probably too good. We would see.

֍

I was about to ask Mr. Bennet some more questions when we heard a commotion in the street outside. I looked out of our window but could see nothing; however just moments later the fruiterer returned dragging a clearly unwilling scruffy young fellow with him. I scowled at the newcomer.

“Cranbrook!” I growled. “What foul wind brings _you_ here?”

“Just passing, Mr. Holmes!” the man gasped, trying to free himself from the behemoth's implacable grip. He had no chance.

“This was the same fellow I saw when I came here”, Benji growled (for all his gentle nature he could as I had seen recently do the fierce savage act to perfection). “I recognized him from his cap. What's your game, cur?”

“This man is a professional watcher”, I said. “One of the better ones; you did well to entrap him. Now the only question is as to which means of torture he would prefer to undergo; my own fairly amateur ones or the professional methods of some of my more interesting 'friends'. The sort who can make death seem a highly attractive option.”

The trapped man whined in terror.

“I am sure”, I told him, “that whoever sent you is capable of inflicting all sorts of punishments on you if you were so foolish to get caught as you have done. I have more than adequate contacts who can uncover the name of your employer to whom I would of course imply that you had told me the same.”

The man somehow contrived to look even more frightened.

“Or I can take him with me”, Benji growled. “The lads at the molly-house are used to dealing with the odd client who can't mind his manners. I'm sure we can get it out of him sooner – _one way or another!”_

“Perhaps that would be for the best”, I conceded. The trapped man shook his head violently.

“It was Mr. Bone!” he groaned. “He had stuff on me! I had no choice!”

I froze. John looked across at me uncertainly.

“Mr. Curzon Bone is one of those agents used by people to employ others to do their dirty work for them”, he said. “A middle-man. Fortunately it will be fairly easy to find out who is using the scoundrel's services. I shall ask around and will doubtless have the answer by this evening.”

“Let me go!” the trapped man pleaded.

“Not a chance!” Benji retorted. 

“Perhaps we should”, I smiled. “After all we know he lives at number seven Nighthawk Lane in Bermondsey, along with his wife and four children. Doubtless he is currently wondering if he should warn Mr. Bone so that his actual employer might be alerted. Such a move would be _most_ unwise, Cranbrook. Likely fatal, in your case.”

Our friend suddenly dropped his captive onto the carpet, and he crumpled into an untidy heap.

“And now _I_ know where you live, cur!” Benji grinned. “If my good friend Mr. Holmes here is inconvenienced at all because you were a tattling little tattle-tale then you'd better keep a sharp eye over your shoulder for the rest of your wretched life, 'cause it may not be that long. You never know when me and the boys might loom up out of the dark night. Boo!”

The man screamed and scrabbled for the door, and we could hear him almost falling down the stairs. I sighed.

“I shall have to ask Miss Bradbury for a favour”, I said. “Possibly two, because I have an uneasy feeling that this will be a most difficult case.”

֍


	2. Chapter 2

John and I met Miss Bradbury at the cake shop near Middleton's as the company was having the place painted and professionally cleaned. At least that was her excuse. Fortunately the place did pie so John was happy.

“Yes, I did wonder about Abbas Parva”, she said. “Certain things did not quite add up but as it was not my concern I let it go; I am more than busy enough as it is. You are here to inquire as to who employed a professional follower through the offices of Mr. Curzon Bone to track your visitor earlier today?”

Somehow I was not surprised in the least that she knew. I nodded.

“I very much fear that this will be another governmental case”, he said. “Am I correct?”

She nodded.

“The Marquess of Salisbury is beside himself!” she grinned as she passed over a slim folder. “His doctor had to give him something for his nerves when he found out. As you can see from the dates this all began before that oily oik of a lounge-lizard decided to see if he could get both feet in his mouth at one and the same time, and now there is a second case that has drawn your attention. The prime minister is desperate for you to drop it but knows that any move against you would bring down the ire of the whole Monstruous Regiment of your mother and her friends – or as both her noble husband and the doctor here likes to call them, her Coven.

John, who had very obviously been about to make some snarky comment there, blushed and went back to his pie. The pout was as adorable as ever, though.

“The prime minister promised your brother Gaillard a year's supply of confectionery if he could sidetrack you in this case”, Miss Bradbury said. “A very stupid move on his part to have accepted.”

“Why?” John asked.

“Because our esteemed leader was prepared to go up to five years!” she grinned. “Gaillard went round to Mr. Bone at eight twenty-five this morning, which proves that miracles do happen. You might tell him by the way that gold shirts are frankly vulgar, even by his standards; my watcher said she felt that she deserved extra pay for seeing _that_ just after breakfast!”

I smiled at that.

“What I am looking for”, I said, “is an unexplained death in London.”

John snorted at that, and given my choice of words I could hardly blame him. Miss Bradbury chuckled and reached for another cream puff; I had noted the unusually high number of them on the cake-stand but wisely had not commented.

“It is my belief”, I said, “that Mr. Michael Knight was killed not for anything he did or did not do. He was killed because of his physical resemblance to someone whose death was deemed Important. That death would likely have to have taken place only days before his own given that there had to be a _post mortem_.”

Miss Bradbury nodded.

“It should be easy to locate the man”, she said. “You do know that your brother will not be happy.”

“What will he do?” John snipped. “Start wearing polka-dots?”

I shook his head at him and did not smile as I called over the waitress for a second helping of pie. And some more cream puffs.

֍

My few precognitive abilities must have been waning because I did not get the expected visit from my brother until the next day. It was early afternoon – Gaillard rarely did mornings which in itself showed the urgency of his visit to Mr. Bone - when there was the sound of angry yelling from the stairs leading up to our rooms. Soon after my brother burst into the room unannounced, rubbing his head.

“Your landlady hit me!” he said accusingly. I sighed.

“Do not worry”, he said. “I shall go down later to see if she is all right.”

“ _She_ hit _me!”_ Gaillard protested. “With a silver tray!” 

I shook my head and tutted.

“That was unwise on her part”, I said. “Silver damages so easily. I am sure that she will send you the repair bill. I shall give her your address if she needs it, and Mother can make sure you do not 'forget' to pay up.”

John may not have exactly helped the situation by failing to stifle a giggle at this point. Gaillard glared at me then seated himself without being asked.

“What do you know?” he demanded.

“Well, let me see”, I said thoughtfully. “I can give you any number of chemical formulae, a list of criminals whose careers I have successfully ended, which stories I have allowed to be published and which ones I...”

“Sherlock, damnation!”

“Or I could start listing the government scandals that I am aware of”, I smiled, “and which may well be being featured in certain prominent London newspapers tomorrow. Starting with the married cabinet member who asks his secretary to take down rather more than just notes!”

“You would not dare!” he said hotly.

I smiled sweetly at him.

“Why do you think I visited the American Embassy today?” I asked. “I dare say they in particular would be far from pleased if they knew just who was really behind the collapse of the Arrowstock Logging Corporation, for example.”

“That is treachery!” Gaillard stormed.

“I rather think that that is _politics”_ , I said calmly. “And in politics every man has his price. “I am sure that you would like to hear mine.”

He glared at me but then slumped back into his chair. 

“Go on”, he said sullenly. 

“You will tell us about the murder of Constable Joseph Pilkington”, I said levelly, enjoying the shocked look on his face at that name. “John will take notes” - I saw him opening his mouth and shot him a look - “to which you will _not_ object. Then we shall proceed from there.”

Gaillard glared at me but he knew that he had lost. 

“A Mr. Philip Sutton”, he said at last. “One of the officials assigned to royal duty; his brother-in-law is Lord Hardman in the Lords. He works in Bacchus' department though not under him. That idiot constable got suspicious that he was committing fraud – unfortunately he was - and was dumb enough to push the matter. Sutton had him killed.”

I could feel the shock emanating from John and not just from the fact that he had paused in his writing. 

“Was this Mr. Sutton behind the cover-up?” I asked. “Remember brother, I will _know_ if you lie to me. I may even tell Mother – most likely just after she has completed her next masterpiece and is looking for someone to listen to the whole thing!”

I really should not have felt pleasure at seeing my own brother shake with fear. But then this was Gaillard, so.

“He was”, he admitted. “He came from Abbas Magna and had all the right connections there including the fellow in charge of the orphanage. He found young Knight, they killed him and Pilkington, then they put the boy's personal effects on the body. He told the newspapers that Pilkington had been involved in fraud and had fled to Russia, knowing that he could not be traced there.”

“And knowing that that country would not co-operate in any inquiry”, I said. “I am sure that the coroner was also in on it from the unusual rapidity of his proceedings, so I shall have dealings with him later. I know that Mr. Knight is survived by only his mother. Did Constable Pilkington have any family?”

“Newly married with one child, a daughter”, Gaillard said.

“And you ruined their lives!” John cut in angrily..

“One cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs”, my brother said loftily (I was sure that John had written that one down already).

“I can”, I said coldly. “You will arrange an unexpected inheritance from an unknown cousin to Mrs. Knight and a full police pension for Mrs. Pilkington. You will do this in twenty-four hours Gaillard, or the American Embassy will be getting rather more than a passing visit. And they will not be the only ones.”

“All right”, Gaillard said sulkily. “Mr. Sutton?”

I smiled coldly, pleased at the way it made my brother shudder.

“In Lincolnshire I showed a degree of clemency over the government's deciding to wade around in the blood of its own citizens”, I said. “I know that this latest foul-up began before Bacchus' one, but I see now that such generosity was an error of judgement on my part. Clearly more _assertive_ methods are called for. John will take a telegram to the post office for me and you will not depart until his return. As a consequence of that telegram Mr. Sutton will not see this evening's sunset. As for you, brother..... I strongly suggest that you absent yourself from us both for some considerable time.”

I penned a few lines and handed a piece of paper to John who left the room quickly. Gaillard looked set to follow him but one look stopped him in his tracks, and he fell back into his chair scowling.

֍

The day after Gaillard's visit, the _'Times'_ reported that the body of a government official called Mr. Philip Sutton had been dragged out of the ornamental lake outside his palatial Surrey home. He had been shot six times. I allowed myself a smile and arranged for a box of very expensive chocolates to be sent round to the assassin Mrs. Kyndley who had most generously taken time away from her favourite nieces to 'directly remove' a blot on London's human landscape.

It is probably yet another damning indictment of both my own family and my own government that I had to check to see that Mrs. Knight and Mrs. Pilkington had indeed received their moneys (luckily for someone they both had). I made it clear to both my brothers that nothing short of a major emergency would permit their visiting Baker Street for some time. And Mrs. Harvelle did indeed successfully bill Gaillard for one damaged tray.

I may or may not have suggested to Mother that Bacchus being immobilised in a hospital bed was a perfect opportunity for him to help her with her stories, and that she could visit him and read them to him until he was better. I like to help speed a patient's recovery where possible. And I have no idea why John is smiling like that.

֍


End file.
